


Screaming Silence

by notafraidofwolves



Category: Carmilla (Web Series), Carmilla - J. Sheridan Le Fanu
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe- No Supernatural, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/F, Inspired by Music, Music
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-15
Updated: 2015-04-22
Packaged: 2018-03-23 00:52:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3748978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notafraidofwolves/pseuds/notafraidofwolves
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A world without music.<br/>A record dealer.<br/>A daughter without a mother.<br/>A music box.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Laura hugged her knees; she had no more tears to cry, her eyes were bloodshot and puffy, her throat was raw, her head pounded and the rash that appeared on her forehead and the bridge of her nose when she was stressed was redder than she had ever seen it.  
In another universe she would have been embarrassed about the blotchiness, not wanting to be seen, feeling ugly and babyish. In another universe Laura could maybe feel almost okay. In a perfect universe her mother would be there to comfort her rather than be the cause of the splitting, wrenching, poisoning grief that the young girl was drowning in. 

Laura’s hand shook, causing the piece of paper she held to become evermore crumpled. She opened her her eyes and drew in the most painful breath, the breath that confirmed that she was alive, and awake, and well yet she was alone. She was Saturn, who's rings had one day crumbled and shot away, ricocheting of stars and leaving the planet alone, unguarded, vulnerable and broken in a universe so vast distance is measured in time. 

The letter bore her name in blue ink, swirling, swooping, but you could still see the imperfections of the shaking hand that drew the pen like a magic wand. Laura used to read her mothers notes with a smile on her face and a pen in her hand, practicing the sway of the letters, trying lamely to improve her scraggly penmanship. This letter was the last of its kind, and the imperfections showed that this disease destroyed everything down to the simple micro of the written word. 

She picked herself up off the ground and placed the unopened letter on the vanity. The mirror was cruel that day, depicting a dishevelled girl, brown hair, grief striken features and a pain in her eyes that ran deeper than one could ever hide. She was young, innocent, wide eyed, screaming to a god that created a world so cruel that children were left motherless, and yet she was still supposed to sit on her knees and pray. Laura would never again worship a god so heartless as to tear away the thing she loved most. 

“Fuck it,” She cursed, a rarity for her.

She peeled open the envelope and grabbed the flimsy letter that was inside it. It smelt like death. It had drops of her mothers perfume on it. A sweet thought, but in hindsight so morbid. She wanted to scream, why had her mothers scent that she adored so much been turned into such a sick thing.

“What's wrong with the world, Momma,” she whispered, grinning at the irony.

Dear Laura,  
baby girl, I'm so sorry.  
I love you.  
Take care of your father.  
There is something I have left you that is not in the will. It cannot be. Go down to our room, it is all yours now and everything in it. Cherish it. Be careful. Be daring. Be good enough.  
Love Mom.

The full stop after the world Mom ripped Laura's heart to pieces, death was just that, a full stop. A fucking dot.

***  
1.  
The first time Laura ever saw the room was so long ago it was in the section of her memory that felt like a dream. Everything is shiny and everyone is big an looks like a supermodel. There are no imperfections.  
She was maybe three, her mother was her whole world and she hardly remembered her yesterdays.  
She was playing with matchbox cars. They were grouped in colours, The Reds: the fastest, they speed around Laura’s imaginary track skidding around corners, always winning the race;  
The Blues:quite slow and steady keeping safe and The Yellows: stunt cars, did flips off ramps and jumps over chasms. 

The second Yellow car was lined up at the start line of Laura’s imaginary track. It aimed to beat the record of 10 flips off the final ramp, set by the first Yellow car. 

“free, two, one,” Laura whispered. “Zoooooom wheee,” 

She was delighted by the fabricated adventures of this car. It was coming up to the ramp, which led seemingly infinitely into the sky. It lept of the end. I flip, 2 flip, 3 flip... Laura’s chubby hand fumbled, and dropped the car. It tumbled, not in flips but in choreographed whirls and turns, jolting and bumping. It hit the first step and began to fall rapidly down the stairs until it lay battered and bruised in front of the door of Mothers room. 

Laura scrunched up her face. Her mother had told her not to go down the stairs. But her poor car looked so lonely. What would it do all by itself down there? 

She turned around and began to crawl feet first down the stairs. Bumping down each step, taking a break each time she landed. She turned around on the last step and awkwardly fell forward, her toddler body stumbling. She landed, twisting her ankle under herself.

She began to cry. Her mother rushed out of the room, tutting.

“Laura, what have I told you.” She said, “you shouldn't be down here.” She rushed the child upstairs, the door swinging open.

Laura peered over her mothers shoulder. Witnessing the soft, glowing light that poured out from the gloomy room. It was like happiness itself had been embodied, it drew you in, inquisitively. 

*** 

Laura slipped the letter back into the envelope. She took a shaky breath and walked to her bookshelf. She grabbed her oxford dictionary off the ledge and opened. The inside was cut out and filled with trrinkets and notes and little things she had collected over her 17 years. She placed the letter inside and put the book back. 

Her father was in the other room. He had been there since it happened. He was so lively and joked his way through the disease but now Laura's mother was dead and it seemed like nothing would ever be funny again. Death is a strange thing that way. 

Laura left her room and began to make her way down the staircase, it was steep and dusty, the smell of mou\ld and settled grime filled her nostrils and made her eyes water. No one had been down here since 6 months ago when her mother could still walk. 

She treaded lightly, she didn't want to disturb the peace and settlement that seemed to blanket that area of the house. She grasped the chain that sat above her collarbone, on the end a hard silver key, worn by age, swung. 

 

She unclasped the necklace and slid the key into the lock. The door creaked open, and Laura was was washed with soft light. It glowed, it was something unlike other light and no one could explain why. 

Laura stepped into the room. The one light bulb swung from the wind of the door. The light from that bulb was so beautiful. On the table was a box. Wooden and engraved with the words Thank you for all you have given my daughter, Mme Karnstein. Her mother never told her who that was, but her eyes always glazed over when she read it. Laura brushed the dust off the metal catch of the box, and opened it. 

The first few notes rang out, although soft and quiet they were a terrifyingly harsh contrast to the common silence that had blanketed the house for the past few days. 

The ballerina spun and tears began to roll slowly down Laura's cheek. 

“somewhere over the rainbow,” she choked, singing along to the chorus. 

The wizard of Oz was the last movie to be made before the ban began. All musicals had now been burnt. All music had.


	2. Stars

(I can't look at the stars, they make me wonder where you are) 

The final notes rang out and Laura was left in silence, the ballerina stopped spinning and her graceful, ceramic body folded and bent down. Laura closed the box. 

The light bulb swung, shifting and making the shadows dance, delightedly on the walls of the dingy room. Laura's face was streaked with tears, but this time not of grief or sadness but of hope. One day everything would be okay, one day she could sing loudly and everyone would be joyous and happy. She could hope. 

(Stars, up on Heaven's boulevard)

The room was about 6 feet cubed, Laura's father had to crouch to fit in. In the middle was the table with the music box. On the back wall, was something, cloaked in a black cover. Laura had always asked her mother what it was, she was never told. The room was hers now, and everything in it. 

She walked over to the blanketed object. She felt intrusive, as if she was prying on her mothers most personal things. She felt so wrong. 

“Come on, Laura,” she whispered, breaking the silence that she had comfortably settled in, “you need to girl the hell up.”

With a brush of her hand the cover fell away, crumpling in a hopeless pile on the floor. It was similar to the way Laura had been not 30 minutes before.

It was something Laura hadn't seen before. It came up her neck. It was black, had a flat top which curved downwards, and then stuck out like a short bench. On the flat, bench-like part, there were black and white keys. Laura ran her fingers over the keys, trying to brush the dust off. Loud, screaming notes ran out, Laura yelped and jumped backwards.

(And if I know you at all, I know you've gone too far) 

She brushed the hair out of her eyes and cautiously approached the instrument. It held such beauty, and light, and story. 

(So I, I can't look at the stars) 

She imagined her mother, whiling away her hours sitting in front of it. Making and creating music, rebelling in her own small way, showing her defiance in such a graceful and elogant way. She never went to the riots that happened across town but she would have sat here at this instrument and banged it, maybe hoping silently that somebody heard her, but when she was calm again; she would play her heart out, letting the melodies fly and swirl. Letting the music free, to go somewhere kinder than here. 

 

***

2.  
Laura was 6 years old, she was just growing out of her toddler chubbiness, and the brightness in her eyes, the imagination and joy, was slowly fading. It wouldn't be long before she realized that the world wasn't so pretty. It wasn't perfect. In fact it was cruel. Soon she would realize that the lullaby's she was sung at bedtime, were an illegal act and that her Mother was risking her life.   
That she meant more than life to her Mother.

“Laura,” her mother called out, “come here, sweetie,”

The pitter patter of Laura's footsteps filled the house with echoing, rhythmic noise. Noise was something people become ever so attune to once music was gone. It was the thing Laura's Mother missed the most. The burning of old records's had only happened 20 years ago, the production of music had stopped in about 1950. Musicals were the first to go. Laura's mother had grown up with a record player humming constantly. This was the harsh reality she had come to face with, the echoing silence, no escape from the brush and whisper of your own movement. Always stuck with the aggravating, pounding, mocking, mimicking scream of your own thoughts. That was so hard to live with. You couldn't silence yourself. You were your own worst enemy, and you wouldn't shut up. You were the one driving yourself insane and there was no off switch. 

Laura ran into the arms of her mother.

“Baby, I've got something to show,” she scooped the young girl up. She was far too old for being picked up, bur this was different. This was special. 

They stumbled down the wooden stairs.

“Laura, I need you to keep this a secret, okay?” Her mother whispered, “Otherwise we are going to get in a lot of trouble,”

Laura nodded. Her mother placed the key in the lock and turned. Click. The sound of the door unlocking rang out. The door swung open and Laura fell in love with that light. 

 

***

Laura sat down at the stool, in front of the instrument. There was a book sitting on a ledge that protruded from the object. She opened it. It was music notes. Her mother had shown her them once. Taught her vaguely how to read them. She had forgotten now. Letters representing the sound, something like that. She flicked through pages. A letter fell out. Of course. Her mother loved leaving a trail, little clues. Easter egg huts were always intricate and amazing. 

Dear Laura,  
I'm glad you found this. I didn't know if you would. I hope you like the piano. It is yours now. This book should teach you the basics of playing it. Then move on to the other ones. You can find them under the lid of the piano stool. 

I need you to do something for me. At my funeral I want them to play 'Somewhere over the rainbow.” The music box won't play it loud enough. I need you to get it on record. Your father has organised the funeral in a discreet place. Nobody will hear. 

Go to this address: 15 Celeste ave. There is a house there. Knock three times. The door will open. Then go up stairs and to the 4th room on the right. Inside there will be a woman called Carmilla Karnstein. Tell her I sent you. She will give you the record. Then leave very quickly. Don't let anybody see you. 

I love you.  
-Mom

Laura's breath tightened she grabbed the letter, stuffed it into her pocket and left the room. It was all way too much. She needed a minute. 

Laura hurried out of the room, locked the door and re clasped the necklace around her neck, letting the key rest just below her collar bone. Near her heart. She would always feel the chill of that key. Never letting the memory of her mother fade.


	3. Vinyl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We meet our record dealer...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there,  
> I hope you like reading this, I am not really sure where it is going but we shall see.  
> minor tw: panic attack

Carmilla stacked the records haphazardly into the wooden crates. She need to get out of here now. The cops had been called. She was fucked. She placed her record player carefully inside its case. She needed to find Will. This was all his fucking fault and he was going to pay for it. Three years had passed and no disturbances, Will plays for one night and all of a sudden the police are hot on her trail. 

The piano, sat there, lonely, no longer surrounded by the teetering pile of records. She would call Kirsch to take care of it. Him and his 'bros,' could find a place for it. 

She grabbed her phone and dialled his number.

"Kirsch, the police are onto me." She cried, her voice and octave higher than her usual sultry rasp.

"Fuck, shit." He replied.

"Yeah. I know. I need you to move the piano. I am relocating all the records now but I don't have time to move it myself. Bring yourself and the fire haired Amazonian one. She looks strong enough." 

"Shit yeah I call Danny now," He said, abruptly hanging up. 

Knock. Knock. Knock. The signature banging arose from the other side of the door. 

"Really, today of all day," Carmilla sighed, of course her destiny planned the first customer in months to come on the day that she really needed to be invisible. Of fucking course. 

Knock. 

"I'm coming, cutie. Just give me a sec," Carmilla rummaged through a box trying to find the key. 

Laura waited. The girl who had just yelled at her seemed upset. It wasn't that bad to wait.

The avenue she was in was beautiful. It wound off a quiet suburbian street. Blue stone pavement, with flowers bursting through the gaps between each rock. Swaying branches overflowed from peoples back gardens. 

Number 15 was a pale blue terrace house. One story. The paint was peeling off. The house seem liked it had been left untouched for years and years, and was now falling into that dilapidated, silent rest. That's probably exactly what the owner of the house wanted people to think. That way nobody would ask questions. 

'Fuck," Laura heard a voice say from the other side of the door.

Carmilla unlocked the door. 

Laura stepped back. Standing before her was the most beautiful being Laura had ever seen. So perfect, doll-like almost. She had porcelain skin and cascading black hair, that fell slightly below her shoulders, thick winged eye-liner framing eyes so deep and layered you could almost fall into them. She was amazing. She pulled you in.

Carmilla raised her eyebrow. In front of her stood a girl, and this girl was fire, this girl was the sun, this girl was light itself. Carmilla drew a breath. She was just like Elle. Her mousy brown hair, was pulled back into a pony tail, flyaways framed her face. She was so bright and Carmilla just wanted to drink her up, inhale her.

She needed to get herself together. Come on Mircalla, woman the fuck up. 

"So, cutie, to what do I owe the pleasure?" 

"Um, er, my Mother, Grace Hollis. She sent me. I'm her daughter. She said you have a record for her." It was strange for Laura to mention her Mothers name, not painful just strange.

"I'm Laura," She replied."Fuck, no, that's for her. No, shit, she's too young. Fuck, I'm sorry. Oh my god, she's dead." Carmilla's mouth hung open and tears pricked behind her eyes.

Laura was taken aback by the strangers reaction. Did this woman know her mother? Well, obviously she did, but how?

Police sirens screamed and whirred in the background.

"Fuck," The porcelain-like woman swore. "I'm Mir- Carmilla, and how are you, cupcake," Carmilla slipped back into her standard 'everything is fine,' routine. Laura noticed the change and promised herself she would ask about it later. Carmilla grabbed Laura and pulled her in to the building and slammed the door. 

"Nice name, cutie. Now I need your help and then you can have your record." Carmilla spoke and received a nod of confused agreement from the other girl. "There is a van parked out back. I have over 7000 records upstairs, they need to be in the van before the police crash this place." 

"Um, okay." Laura said as she was dragged upstairs.

Fourth room on the right. It had 3 locks on the out side, and probably a number more on the inside. Carmilla grabbed a rusted old key from her pocket and unlocked the door. 

"Quickly, creampuff," Laura frowned at the use of yet another food related nickname. 

The room was messy and smelt of old cigarettes and whiskey. It smelt like memories and nights of dancing with your eyes closed. 

Carmilla was hurriedly packing records into boxes. Laura watched as the curve of the girls back arched, reminding her of a cat. She was so perfect, Laura felt like she was being sucked into a void, but that void was filled with everything Laura wanted and needed. 

Laura realised she was staring, and began to help pack records into the boxes.

"Alright, cupcake, all the wooden crates can go down to the van. Go out the back. If you continue down the hall there is a fire escape. Kirsch and his guys should be there, they will help you," Carmilla wiped the sweat from her forehead and went back to packing. She was shaking. Laura decided that was none of her business and grabbed two of the wooden boxes, overflowing with records. Hundreds of thousands of dollars worth, and this was only a fraction of what Carmilla had. 

Laura ran down the hallway, and out the door of the fire escape. The wind had picked up, blowing her hair into her eyes. She stumbled, trying not to let the records fall. She felt strong arms grab her and take the crates from her hands. 

It was a woman, about her age, but tall, like giantly tall, with flowing ginger hair.

"I'm Danny," she said and the shock of red hair was gone. 

Thanks, Laura thought, and ran back inside. 

She ran back into the room, to find Carmilla in a crumpled head on the floor, shaking violently. Loud sobs shook the room. She was having a panic attack.

Laura crouched down and placed her hand around the shoulders of the dark haired girl. She really did seem like porcelain right now, so fragile, ready to crack and crumble if any more pressure was placed upon her.

"Carmilla, I need you to tell me 5 things you are touching right now."

"What," Carmilla, choked out.

"Just do it."

"I'm touching both of your hands, the floor, there is a record in my hand, um, oh my foot is touching that crate." Carmilla sighed, the shaking had slowed down, but tears were still pouring from her eyes. 

Laura looked into Carmilla's eyes, they were now full of so much, pain, terror, darkness. Her face crumpled.

"Hey, Carmilla, you are okay," Laura said, now overly aware of the little amount of space between them. She closed, pressing her forehead against Carmilla's. "You are okay. We are okay. Everything will be okay." 

Carmilla stopped crying. This girl was amazing. She just did all that for a complete stranger. She was blinding Carmilla with her light and Carmilla wouldn't change it for the world.

**Author's Note:**

> I will try to update by nest week. Hope you liked it.
> 
> Follow my tumblr?? notafraidofwolves.tumblr.com


End file.
